Monday, March 16, 2009

The Doghouse on Saturday Night


Prints of Whales


So me and the food critic's nickname had a wonderful Saturday. Really, it was lovely. Watched the storm clouds build overhead and felt the full force of the cold front. Good opportunity to make sure the nest was nice and clean and everything in its place.

We then went out for Bietnamese dinner before going to the grand old Astor Theatre to watch Slumdog Miwwionaire. Which was pus. But that's a subject for another blog entry.

However I wasn't content with a lovely day with the critic's, NO! I had promised my bass player, the ever rockin' Bec, that I would catch her band "The Dezperados" at the Pint on Punt. Critic's didn't wanna go - so I went alone. At least I thought I would be alone. I walk into the Pint and there's at least half a dozen of my closest (and not quite so closest) friends all rocking away. Ten minutes later I'd finally completed the obligatory meet and greets. It was one of those nights.

So without getting too out of shape it was pretty much time to go home. Except that Eddie's brother Jeb was working the Bowls Club. Now it would be downright un-Australian of us not to go and support a mate's brother who is at the end of a long shift at our favourite watering hole. Just for one or two.

Except it wasn't just for one or two.

Jo and Kev did their usual "LOOK AT US - WE'RE DJ'S!!!!" routine, which wasn't so painful, actually, and we all had quite a ball.

So around midnight now and time to leave. I've had a couple more by this stage, but I'm keeping well lucid and well in control.

Until Andy "Norfside" Gibbs pipes up with "I didn't realise St Kilda shut down at 12. None of you bastards going to come out and show me St Kilda's nitelife?"

Well, that was out of order. He's not only dissed my hometown, he's had a go at the very essence of our hospitality.

"Sure," I says, "I'm up for the challenge."

So we get to Barney Allen's (I wouldn't normally be seen dead there but I was showing a Northener around) and bump into another half a dozen people I know. It was really starting to get to be a rock star's night out. So Barney stops serving us at some totally inappropriate hour - so we heads across to the Prince of Wales. Fortunately I got to witness Liverpool do Man UI over at Old Trafford, so that was nice. But by then the "must go home now" receptors in my brain were switched to "must stay out and milk fun for all it's worth" which, in anybody's language, spells bad news.

So eventually I shoe horn myself outta there and somehow make it home alive.

Yes, I am in BIG TROUBLE.

Yes, IT IS ALL ANDY'S FAULT!

No, nobody's buying that excuse.

;)

No comments: